Sins, Lies & Naughty Games: A Blackwell-Lyon Security Collection

by J. Kenner

  I step forward. “How long has he been in Dallas?”

  “Several days now. I’m sorry, what is this regarding?”

  Landon meets my eyes, and I see the question in his. I pull out my phone, pull up the video image, and hand it to her. “Is that Mr. Peterman?”

  “Why no. I’m sorry, but I’m still terribly confused. I believe this is one of the file clerks.”

  “Is it?” Landon says. “Could you ask him to come up?”

  “Well, I—” She cuts herself off as she shows the picture to the receptionist. “I don’t recall his name. Do you?”

  The receptionist shakes her head, and we agree that I’ll email her the picture and she can forward it to the file room. Less than five minutes later, we get an answer. Daniel Powder. And he hasn’t been to the office in over a week.

  He also hasn’t been to his apartment, a crappy little studio out near the airport.

  “And Daniel Powder was a fake name anyway,” Landon tells us at dinner a few hours later. “I’m sorry, but your guy’s gone underground.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Thanks,” she says when we reach her room in The Driskill. “I’ll lock the door, keep all the lights on, and hope I can get some sleep.”

  It’s just the two of us, Landon left us after dinner, and now I take the card from her hand, lean past her to open the door, and usher her inside.

  “Or I can have you check the place out thoroughly before I crash,” she says.

  “I’ll definitely do that. But you have a decision to make.”

  “I do?” She has a small suite, and she settles on the sofa in the living area, then hugs a pillow to her chest.

  “I can either crash here on your couch, or we can call Pierce or Connor, and they can crash here on your couch. But you’re not staying alone.”

  “I’m in a hotel. I don’t think he even knows my room number.”

  “You don’t have a balcony, so there’s no way out if he does get in. And he definitely knows you’re staying here. We could move you to another hotel, but even then I’d want someone to stay with you. He attacked you. He tried to kill you. In his fucked up mind, he thinks you spurned him. He’s dangerous Gracie.”

  “I know—I know. But—but what if we never catch him? I have a house. A life. I can’t just keep moving to new towns. I don’t want—”

  I sit, then take her hands, gratified when she not only doesn’t yank them away, but squeezes tight. “We will find him,” I say. “We will catch him. We will stop him.”

  She looks up, her eyes shadowed with fear. “Promise?”

  I start to lean in, not thinking, simply wanting to seal the words with a kiss, but I stop myself, then nod as if everything’s normal and fine. “I promise.”

  “Well, then, will you stay?”

  I try not to show how I’m dancing for joy on the inside. “Are you sure?”

  She nods. “I liked you.”

  I notice her use of the past tense and force myself not to wince.

  “I still do,” she adds, and now my smile comes easy.

  “Good,” I say. “Because I like you.”

  “It was still a dick move.”

  “Maybe. I thought he was the good guy. Then when I got to know you and you didn’t fit with my image of a lying, cheating female…”

  “This is an image you keep parked in your brain?”

  “Rooted there,” I confess. “Has been for quite a while.”

  She studies me. “Want to tell me why?”

  I consider it, then shake my head. “No. I think that we should order brownie sundaes from room service, drink wine, and watch a movie.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why do you say it like that?”

  She shakes her head, looking slightly bemused, but happier than she has all day. “Because that sounds pretty close to my idea of heaven right now.”

  And since I’m all about making her happy—and making up for the last couple of days—I call in the order, review our movie possibilities, and get everything set up. Within the hour, we’re both on the couch, the remains of a gigantic brownie sundae on the coffee table in front of us and Arsenic and Old Lace playing on the screen, a selection from the Classic Favorites section of the movie rental system. And since I’m a fan of the classics—Connor and I were practically weaned on Cary Grant—I was thrilled to learn its one of Gracie’s favorites.

  At one point, when Grant is being particularly slapstick-y, I turn to see if Gracie’s enjoying it and find her staring right back at me.

  “What—” I begin, but I don’t finish.

  “You have something,” she says, brushing the corner of her mouth. “Brownie crumbs, probably.”

  I rub my mouth, but apparently rub the wrong side, because she laughs and brushes her thumb over the opposite corner of my mouth.

  It’s just her thumb against my lips, but it’s as if I’ve been shot through with electricity, and I’m damn sure that she feels it, too, because she’s staring at me with such a combination of shock and desire that it would be funny if I didn’t want to kiss her so damn badly. But I’m here to protect her, and on shaky ground at that. I don’t want to take advantage or push, or—

  To hell with it.

  “Gracie.” My voice is gravely with need as I reach up and close my hand over hers, holding her thumb in place. Her eyes meet mine, and I look for any hint of hesitation as I hold her hand still then turn my head. Just a bit. Just enough so that I can kiss the pad of her thumb.

  She exhales, the soft sound filling my head. Firing my senses.

  I hold her eyes with mine, still waiting for her to stop me as I draw her thumb into my mouth, slow and deep, and then sucking. Tasting.

  And when she tilts her head back—when I see her nipples tighten under her dress and through her bra, then hear her groan with a pleasure that goes straight to my cock—I know that she’s not going to call a halt.

  And when she whispers, “Oh, God, yes,” I cup the back of her neck as I swirl her thumb around my tongue, reveling in the salty sweetness of her skin.

  “Gracie,” I murmur, when I can’t take it any longer. When I have to taste her lips.

  I shift on the couch, my body over hers, one hand at the waist of dress she wears. It’s a style that buttons from hem to cleavage, with a thick belt at her waist, just beneath my palm. My other hand is behind her head, my fingers twined in her hair, and I hold her body steady as I lift myself up just enough to gaze upon the woman breathing hard beneath me.

  “You are so damn pretty,” I say, then watch the way her face lights, the dimples in her cheeks appearing like magic.

  She has one hand on the back of my neck, and her thumb is stroking my skin in a way that’s making me hyperaware of the touch. The connection.

  Slowly, I ease my fingers over the buttons between her breasts. I pop open the first one, then hesitate, giving her the chance to stop me. She bites her lower lip, then closes her eyes as I undo the next four buttons, so that the bodice of her dress falls open, revealing perfect breasts spilling over the top of a pink cotton bra. The kind, I note with interest, that fastens with a front clasp.

  I trail my fingertip over the V-shape made by the outline of her bra against her breasts, tracing a path over the heated skin, then down to the clasp, then slowly back up over the mound of her other breast. The cotton is thin enough to see her nipple, hard now and trapped under a blanket of pink.

  Her skin is flushed, her lips parted, and her head is tilted back, exposing the smooth, pale skin of her neck. “Gracie,” I whisper. “Look at me.”

  She does, and I see the heat in those sea-blue eyes. “I’m going to kiss you.”

  She nods, her lips parting in anticipation. But I’m being naughty, teasing her, and I lower my mouth to her breast, dusting a trail of kisses along the line where her skin is revealed at the edge of the cup. She whimpers, and I wonder how long I can go on teasing her when I’m tormenting myself just as much.

  Boldly, I shift my
kisses, closing my mouth over her nipple, sucking on cotton and feeling that nub harden under the gentle scrape of my teeth.

  Then I can’t stand it any longer, and I use my fingers to tug the cup down. She arches up, a strangled, please on her lips, followed by a low, deep moan of pleasure when I take her now-bare breast into my mouth and suck as if I want to drink her up. Consume her. Pull her entirely inside me.

  And oh, yes, that is exactly what I want.

  I play with her other breast with my free hand, and when I can’t stand it any longer, I pop open the clasp, freeing her completely. Regretfully, I release her from my mouth so that I can pull back and look at her, bare to the waist, her skin flushed, her lips red and swollen from the way she’s been biting them. Her hair tousled, and her eyes dark with lust.

  “Cayden,” she says. Just my name, but it’s a demand. An order, and I follow it eagerly, this time claiming her mouth with my own as my palm cups her breast. Our tongues war, my fingers twisting and tightening on her nipple as our tongues taste and tease. I’m lost in a sensual haze, and as I devour her mouth, I slide my hand down, away from her breast, lower and lower until my fingers can tug up the cotton of her dress, revealing her smooth thighs.

  Her low, soft mewls of pleasure encourage me, and I blaze a trail north, easing my way up the inside of her thigh until I reach the band of her panties, and she gasps, her hips rising as if in invitation. Gently, I stroke along the edge of the material, my fingertip grazing her tender skin.

  She murmurs my name, and I silence her with a fresh kiss, then suck on her lower lip as I slowly, teasingly, slip my finger under the elastic band, desperate to feel how slick she is.

  She whimpers, then shifts, her hand coming from nowhere to close over mine. She holds my fingers in place, just out of reach of heaven, and then she says the word I really don’t expect. “No.” She tugs my hand away, closing her thighs. “I’m sorry.”

  She turns away, obviously embarrassed, and I watch, surprised as she sits up and starts to button her dress. “I’m really sorry,” she says again, not looking at me as she scoots further into the corner of the couch.

  I hesitate, still surprised, then realize that she’s afraid I’m pissed.

  Well, shit.

  “Gracie,” I say gently, “it’s okay.”

  “Really? You’re not upset?”

  I shake my head. “I’ll cop to disappointed, but no is no for a reason. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with. It’s only good if it’s good for both of us.”

  Her smile returns, erasing what I think was embarrassment mixed with fear. “Thank you,” she says, then looks down at her hands. “It’s, um, not you.” She lifts her head and looks straight into my eyes, her cheeks blooming red as she says, “I liked what you were doing. Um, everything you were doing. And, I really do want … more.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” And then, because I can be a devilish bastard, I ask, “What kind of more in particular? I want to get it right.”

  A smile tugs at her mouth. “Everything,” she says, and I like the way the hesitancy has faded from her voice. “Tonight is just—it’s just too soon. I barely know you.”

  She’s right, of course. But as she gets up off the couch and heads into the connecting bedroom, I can’t help but think that it feels like I’ve known her forever.

  I’m pondering that sense of connection when she leans against the doorframe. “Do you need in the bathroom before me?”

  I shake my head. It’s the only design flaw I see with the hotel—to get to the bathroom, a guest in the living area has to enter the bedroom.

  She nods, then closes the bedroom door, leaving me alone to remember the feel of her skin under my fingers, and the taste of her in my mouth. Too soon.

  It really didn’t feel too soon to me.

  A few minutes later, she opens the bedroom door and appears again in the doorway. She’s wearing one of the hotel robes over a knee-length nightgown. “There’s another robe in the closet, and a spare blanket. Help yourself. And I’ll keep this door open so that you can get to the bathroom whenever you need.”

  “You going to sleep now?”

  She nods. “Long day. Um, goodnight, Cayden.”

  “Goodnight, Gracie.”

  I wait until I see the light go out, then step into the bedroom and cross to the bathroom, grabbing the robe on my way. I pause long enough to look at her, already asleep and illuminated by the sliver of light coming in through the drapes.

  A few minutes later, I’m back on the couch in my boxers, the robe over the back of a chair, and the blanket pulled over me as I lay back against one of the throw pillows. I’ve just closed my eyes when I hear her voice.

  “Cayden?”

  I look up to see her standing in the doorway. “You okay?”

  “I don’t want to be alone.”

  “You’re not. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “No, I mean…”

  “Do you want me to come sleep in there?” I ask gently. “I promise I can behave.”

  “No. But can I sit with you for a while? Maybe we can watch another movie?”

  “Sure,” I say, sitting up and offering her half of the couch. She comes, sitting sideways so that her feet are in my lap. And sometime in the middle of Bringing Up Baby, we both drift off to sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  I’m back in the desert, mortar fire all around, and now my legs are as useless as my eye, and back home, Gracie is in bed with a grad student, and I want to shout at her to not do it. To not ruin everything we could have, and I—

  With a start, I come wide awake, breathing hard, and see the ornate interior of the suite all around me. Not smoke and blood and sand and a boiling sun. And my legs are fine, under Gracie’s, just as we’d fallen asleep last night.

  She’s all twisted up on the couch, too, and when I shift, trying to work out some of the kinks that have settled in to all of my muscles, her eyes flutter open.

  “Sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “It’s okay.” She stretches and yawns, then runs a finger through her hair. She looks absolutely delicious and I’m so tempted to kiss those sweet lips and continue where we left off.

  “Oh, crap,” she says. “It’s after eight. I need to be in North Austin by eleven.”

  And there goes my plan for the morning.

  She sits up, then rolls her neck, stopping when I reach over and start to knead the tight muscles. “Good thing I don’t have a photo shoot today. They’d end up with pictures of a human pretzel.”

  “Not a shoot?” I ask, focusing my attention on her neck as she moans with pleasure. The kind of noises I’d like to hear when we’re both naked, but this will have to do. At least for now. “What’s the appointment?”

  “It’s at an educational facility I work at. Well, sort of,” she adds, though I don’t know if she means sort of educational or that she only sort of works there. “Oh, yes, right there. Perfect.” She sighs. “And I’ll be fine. The kinks will be out by then. You’ve already banished most all of them, kind sir.”

  “If they’re not, I can give you a neck rub any time, any place. My guarantee.”

  She frowns as she studies me. “You’re coming with me today?”

  “Security detail, remember? You can consider me your overprotective slave.”

  “You’re really staying. I thought last night—”

  “You thought it was a one off?”

  “Well, yeah. Kind of.”

  I shift so that I can cup her chin. “I’m like glue,” I say gently. “Until we get this figured out I’m your own personal body guard and masseuse.”

  She laughs. “I’m freaked enough that I won’t argue. But I think tonight I’m sleeping in the bed. My neck can’t take too many nights like that.”

  Neither can mine, but I don’t say as much. I’m already mourning the lack of her warmth against me, aching muscles be damned.

  “You’re probably stiff thi
s morning, too.” Her eyes dip to my lap as she says that, and I can’t help but laugh as she blushes bright red. “Oh, my God. That was really not on purpose.”

  “Well, it’s true,” I say, working to keep a perfectly straight face. “I could definitely use some, ah, tension relief.”

  Now she’s laughing. “Okay, you blew it. I was going to suggest that you should sleep on a real mattress, but it’s the couch for you, mister.”

  “You were going to invite me into your bed?”

  “Well, I was. But forget it. Now I’m thinking a towel on the floor…”

  “I accept,” I say. “The bed. Not the towel.”

  “Too late. I rescinded that offer.”

  I meet her eyes. “Thank you,” I say, and then bend over to gently kiss her.

  “Oh, man…” Her words are a lament as I break the kiss.

  “Problem?”

  “Just regretting that I have things to do and places to be,” she says.

  “And we need to hurry,” I add. “We have a stop south of the river before your eleven o’clock. We’ll be crisscrossing town, but we’ll make it work.”

  “Do we have time to grab breakfast downstairs? We’re going to be skipping lunch.”

  “It’ll be tight. Of course, we could save time and water by showering together…”

  “I’ll be quick,” she says with a smirk, then hurries into the other room, leaving me with only my fantasies of her naked, soapy body. And my hope that later tonight or tomorrow I can turn that fantasy into reality.

  “More coffee?” The waiter in the restaurant downstairs hands me the folio, but directs the question at Gracie, the hand holding the pitcher shaking a little bit. “Or I could grab you a to-go cup.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ve had plenty. But it’s very sweet of you to offer.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem Ms. Harmon.”

  He’s in his early twenties and completely starstruck.

  “Breakfast was great,” I say, passing him the folio, into which I’ve slid the signed credit card receipt. “I think we’re done.”